Chapter 18
Ava’s invite sent me swirling down the drain of self-doubt. People think because flirting is a language I speak fluently that I must hook up constantly. That my bed is never cold. Never empty. That I’m happy in the life of a playboy.
But I haven’t lived like that for years, as much as my personality would indicate differently. Sleeping with someone lost its appeal when I realized there was an angle to it. That however much they liked my body, what really mattered was my money. I started to see the same silent question in everyone’s eyes: How much could they get from the encounter?
And if I didn’t give them anything, how much could they take from me on their way out?
Still, I have a lot of experience.
So, why are my hands so sweaty as I walk up to Ava’s front door? Why is my heart pounding hard enough to hear, like the crashing of ocean waves in my ears?
I’m nervous.
About a hook up.
Of course I am. Ava Bellarose is different. What happens between us matters to me. I want to sleep with her, but I don’t want us to end there.
If we have sex, will she be done with me?
The thought comes at the same time I knock on her door, meaning I have no time to retreat.
Then she opens the door, and I can’t remember how to walk away from her. Ava stands on the threshold wearing a silky blue set of sleep shorts and a camisole edged with black lace. The color choice is so different than the white she normally wears at the club, and I gape at the way the shimmering material drapes over her curves.
“I wore blue because you’re a Squid,” she says, the words abrupt, and I realize that while Ava teases and tantalizes audiences with her body, her words are never coy. “You’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” I rasp.
Her plump lips curve in a smile. “Do you want something to drink?”
All the water in your house, please. I need something to revive myself. “I’ll drink whatever.”
Ava rolls her eyes as she grabs my wrist, towing me inside her place before shutting the door. “I’m not about to waste my good wine on you because you’re trying to be polite.” She leads me into her kitchen, and I follow happily, loving the possessive nature of her hold on me. Ava stands on her tiptoes to reach a bottle on top of the fridge, and the move reminds me of the nights she dances on the pole in bare feet.
“Why do you wear heels some nights and not others?” I ask, wanting to solve one of the many mysteries of this woman.
Ava settles back on her heels, bottle of amber liquid in one hand, my wrist still in her other.
Never let go of me.
“I’m an instruction librarian. Some days I have a lot of classes, which means I’m standing all day. My feet would stage a rebellion if I tried to force them into heels after that.” She holds up the bottle so I can see the label. “You drink whiskey, right? That’s what you order at the club?”
She knows my drink.
“I do.”
“Is this any good? I asked the store clerk, but they kept trying to sell me tequila, so he was no help. I picked the one that had a cool label.”
“You bought whiskey for me?”
“Yeah. Did I have it wrong?” Her skin flushes a delectable pink, but I don’t think it’s from embarrassment. “I was kidding before. If you want some of my wine, you can have a glass.” Her breaths come a touch faster, and a confused expression flits across her face as she licks her lips. “You just got turned on. Like super horny. Even more than when I first opened the door.” Ava studies me. “Do you have a kink involving whiskey? No judgement. But I like my sheets, so we might have to put a few towels down.”
This evil, perfect witch.
“No,” I choke out. “No whiskey kink.” But apparently, I have an Ava went out of her way to get something she thought I’d like kink. “A glass would be great though.” I’m distracted by pinpricks on my shin, and I glance down to find Kraken using my designer slacks as a scratching post.
“I think she missed you.” Ava lets go of me to seek out a glass, and I deal with missing her touch by scooping up my feline child.
“Of course she missed me.” I cradle her against my chest and scratch the white tuft of fur under her tiny chin. “I’m her daddy. This split parenting isn’t healthy for her. We should move in together.”
Luckily, Ava snorts as if what I said was a joke instead of hearing the desperately sincere note in my voice and shoving me out the door for getting clingy.
“Let’s sit on the couch. Come on, Daddy,” Ava says, then smirks when her skin turns pink from another wave of my lust fueling her magic.
I get off on the silly, suggestive nickname paired with the fact that I can make Ava feel good simply by wanting her. She leads me through the small condo to the living space, carrying a glass of whiskey for me and a glass of chilled white wine for herself. When we settle side-by-side on the cushions, Kraken leaps from my arms and sprints to her cactus cat tower where she disappears into a cave-like hidey hole.
With no kitten between us, Ava and I stare at each other. All my flirting game evaporates in the face of panic. I worry that I’ll say something wrong and Ava will cut me out of the small space in her life I’ve started to ease into.
Flirting comes easily when you don’t care.
“I like your cousin,” she says.
Ava’s comment smashes a fist into my gut. I swipe up my whiskey and drink half the pour in one go.
She likes August? She invited me over to talk about how she likes my cousin? And wore a sexy nighty to torture me during the process?
“Sorry, but he’s taken. By Quinn. Who you met. They’re in love.” That doesn’t seem like enough, so my panicked mouth keeps going. “Also, I don’t have proof, but I’m pretty sure he’s a serial killer. And he hates cats. And spits in his ice cream. Not the scoop he gave you, of course—I made sure of that. But in general, he’s a terrible person inside and out. And that beard is fake.”
Ava stares at me, eyes wide, mouth open in an O, and I try not to feel like a terrible person for making up a bunch of insulting lies about the guy I love like a brother.
Suddenly, a wonderful noise fills the small space, and I realize Ava is laughing.
Gods, I thought she couldn’t get any more gorgeous.
She wraps her arms around her middle, bending at the waist as the humor bubbles from her throat in a rich stream. Even if I wanted to hold onto my surly attitude, I can’t with this wonderful music I’m submerged in.
“Oh my goddess,” she gasps, wiping tears from her eyes. “I meant I liked him as a person. As your friend. Not that I wanted to get with him.” More giggles spill out as she watches me with sparkling eyes.
“Of course. I knew that.” I did not know that. “And I may have exaggerated a few details. August can be a decent guy.”
“When he’s not murdering people and cats?”
“Now wait.” I hold up a staying finger. “I said he didn’t like cats. Not that he murdered them. Careful about spreading that false information.”
Ava shakes her head, then her expression settles into something more contemplative, and I’m not sure how I feel about the scrutiny. “I like August. I like Quinn. And Damien and Cat.” She taps a fingernail against her glass. “Do you remember the first time you saw me dance?”
“Impossible to forget. You were in a lace bra and panties—white of course—and heels that night, glitter on your skin. Your hair was in a high ponytail, curled and bouncing around every time you moved. And you did some kind of superman move where you planked while holding onto the pole with only your thighs.”
Ava blinks, and I realize how obsessed that made me sound.
I clear my throat and take another sip of my whiskey. “I mean, yeah. I guess I sort of remember.”
Ava gives me a smirk, then her face fades into a slightly far off look. “You came with a few guys.”
Now that I think about it, pushing past the overwhelming memory of the first time I set eyes on Ava, I recall I did bring some people with me. Guys I went to college with. They were from my party days. Social climbers who envied how I could set down a black card and control the room.
“I haven’t spoken to them in over a year,” I tell her.
“I figured you spent most of your time with people like them.” Ava tilts her head. “They were assholes. Jade throat punched the one with the goatee when he tried to stick his hand past her waistband.”
Marty. He is a major dick now that I think about it. Didn’t know about the throat punching incident though.
“He deserved it,” I say. “And like I said, I don’t talk to him anymore.” I shift to face Ava on the couch. “I’ve definitely been an asshole. Not a grope women without their permission asshole, but still. There were a lot of years I was a self-important douchebag. And I hate I was like that. That I still probably slip into it from time to time. But for a while now, I’ve been trying to be at least tolerable. To be someone people like having around.” For my personality and not my wallet.
Ava picks up her wine for a quick sip, then sets it down on her coaster. Then she crawls across the small space between us and leans in to place a gentle kiss on the pounding pulse in my neck. “You can tell a lot about a person by the people they surround themselves with,” she whispers against my hot skin.
I draw in a ragged breath. “I’d like to surround myself with you.”
That earns me a chuckle and another press of lips on the corner of my chin. Meanwhile, I stay completely still, afraid even the rise and fall of my ribcage will somehow shatter this dream.
“Sammy?” she murmurs before kissing the lobe of my ear.
“Hmm?”
“Do you have a statue kink? Because if not, I’m getting the sense you’re not into this.”
Shit. I’m messing this up by trying not to mess this up.
I’ve gone through life affecting complete and utter confidence. But I guess that’s easy to do when I knew I could have whatever I wanted. All the world has a price tag, and because of my inheritance, I can afford to buy almost anything.
But not Ava. She’s never asked for a cent from me. There’s no way to pay for a path into her life.
And that’s terrifying.
In a quick move, I set my drink aside, wrap a hand around one of Ava’s muscular thighs, and drag her over to straddle my lap.
“I’m into this.” And I emphasize the claim by gripping her ample ass.
Ava rocks into me, and I groan as the pressure on my hardening dick threatens to melt my brain. Her fingers comb into my hair, and I want her to mess up the careful styling I agonized over before arriving. She continues to press her body against mine, kissing my neck and making happy noises in the back of her throat.
Like she likes this.
Like she likes me.
“You’re not interested in my money?” The insecure boy in my chest needs an answer to the question.
I want Ava to say no.
But I also want her to say yes because paying for things is all I know. It’s safe.
Ava rears back, brow furrowing as her hands still. “Did you come over here expecting I’d charge you?”
The end of her petting devastates me, and I try to press my head into her strong hands, so she’ll start again. “No…I…no.”
Her frown deepens. “Then why are you bringing money up right now?”
Frantic to keep her from slipping away, the truth falls from my tongue. “It’s usually what people find most attractive about me.”
Ava lets out the most adorable noise, like a little growl, and she curls her fingers in my hair until her nails drag against my scalp in an erotic sting.
“Sammy, you dense-as-hell Squid. You are sexy. Just you. I mean, you know that, right? You have to. You’re more lick-able than a double scoop of Death by Minty Chocolate Chip. And you saw how I licked that, right?”
“You devoured it.” And I saved the image in my memory to bring up on a bad day.
“Exactly. And I want you more than that.” Ava gives my hair a tug. “And your money means nothing here. Nothing to me. The most expensive hobby I have is buying special edition, sprayed-edge copies of my favorite books. But I get those for myself. With my own money. And, admittedly, I am probably in a slight amount of credit card debt because of that. But I’m not looking for a book sugar daddy.”
“I could get you books,” I pant. “All the books you want.”
Ava sets her forehead against mine, gazing deep into my eyes. “Okay…I admit those sentences out of your mouth were very hot.”
So hot that she finally dips in and kisses me, full on the mouth, licking me like she promised. Our tongues tangle, and I wonder why I ever said any words at all. Why I cared if Ava might be using me for my bank account when I could have this heady, delicious witch consuming me.
She breaks off, and I groan a protest.
“But I’m not fucking you for books,” Ava says, as if our conversation wasn’t interrupted by the best kiss of my life. “Currently, I’m not fucking you at all because you’re being weird. So tell me, Sammy. Why are you here? Do you want to have sex?”
“Yes.” I nod and try to follow her mouth with mine, slipping my arms around her waist to hold her close. “That’s why I’m here. I want to have sex.” I want more than that, but we can talk about it later. Once I show Ava I can be everything she needs.
Once I prove to myself I’m more than a thick wallet.
“Good.” Her frustration slips away, replaced with a smile that stabs me straight through the ribcage. “Do you know what I need you to do, Sammy?”
“Tell me,” I beg.
“I need you”—she leans in until her warm breath caresses my ear—“to wash your hands.”
“Huh?”
Ava straightens in my lap and purses her lips in a scolding expression that almost has me spilling in my pants.
“You were holding my cat. Now you want to touch my pussy? You better wash your hands.” She tugs my arms away from her perfect waist and slips off my lap. “Then meet me in the bedroom.”